


Use But Don't Enjoy

by Meraki_Mason



Series: The Laws of Luxury [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2Rich4U, Bullying, Child Draco Malfoy, Childhood Friends, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, Just Like Dad, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, Mother-Son Relationship, Mudblood, Original Character(s), Pre-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:42:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27890950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meraki_Mason/pseuds/Meraki_Mason
Summary: When you have the money to buy anything you want, some things tend to lose their sparkle. Ten-year-old Draco hasn't yet discovered this feeling, but Lucius has, and Draco will do almost anything to emanate his father.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe & Gregory Goyle & Draco Malfoy
Series: The Laws of Luxury [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913671
Kudos: 23





	Use But Don't Enjoy

THE LAWS OF LUXURY - PART 3

Look But Don’t Touch

Touch But Don’t Use

**Use But Don’t Enjoy**

Enjoy But Don’t Show It

**~~•~~**

Draco watched his father’s reflection in the bathroom mirror as the elder Malfoy poured a small helping of light yellow liquid into the palm of his hand and began combing it through the length of his white-blonde locks.

“What is that?” the boy inquired. He was just tall enough for his chin to rest comfortably atop his hands, which were folded together on the vanity’s counter. 

Lucius kept his eyes on his own reflection as he spoke. “It’s rose oil.” 

Draco eyes lit up with realization. “Is that why your hair is so long?” 

Lucius did look at him now, a single brow raised in question. “How do you come to that conclusion?” 

“It’s a potions ingredient. Rose oil,” Draco reiterated, as if that answered everything. He heard a short, clear laugh ring out from the door where his mother was getting ready in the bedroom. 

“I’m telling you, Lucius, he’ll be the best in his class,” she said. “In potions, if nothing else.”

“Well let’s not discount the other subjects just yet,” Lucius murmured as he returned his attention to the mirror. “Regardless, I don’t trust potions when it comes to hair.” 

Narcissa laughed again, but this time, more amusement colored the sound. “Well you have good reason not to, don’t you?” 

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Please let’s not bring that up again,” he begged. 

Draco grinned as his mother met his eyes in the large vanity’s mirror. She winked at him before looking back down at what had been occupying her attention previously. Draco turned his attention back up to his father.

“Can I—“ he glanced knowingly at his mother’s reflection again, “ _ May  _ I have some?” he corrected, much to Narcissa’s approval. 

One corner of Lucius’ mouth tugged upward at the request. “Yes, all right. I suppose,” he agreed. “A little goes a long way, now.” He dribbled a dime sized amount onto his palm and rubbed it between his hands before running it over his son’s identically colored hair. Draco gave a small smirk of satisfaction as he did so. Everyone always said he was just like his father, and it was a badge that he was proud to bear. He was so proud, in fact, that he would go to almost any length to ensure that no one ever doubted it.

After his hair was done, he went next door to the bedroom to see what his mother was doing. He found her bent over her jewelry armoire, probably looking for a necklace to go with her dress; it was made of satin, navy in color, and had a low dip in the back, visible only because her long hair was pinned up. Her two-toned tresses swirled together atop her head in a way that reminded Draco fondly of a Chelsea bun. “You look pretty, mother,” he complimented, stepping right up to her side with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Why thank you, darling,” she replied, reaching out to brush his cheek with the back of her hand. “Would you care to help me pick out a necklace?” 

He nodded and stood on his tip toes, peeking into the top of the armoire as she removed a secret compartment from it and carried it over to the bed. Curious, he followed her with a furrowed brow and clambered onto the mattress. When Narcissa opened the small velvet-lined box, Draco’s eyes went wide with wonder. Luscious red rubies and opulent emeralds, glittering diamonds and shining pearls, sapphires and amethysts and others he didn’t even know the names of—all of them greeted his gaze at once. They were all so tempting; he wanted nothing more than to plunge his hands into the depths of the box and allow each strand of gems to run through his fingers, but he felt it a sin to even think of disturbing something so precious. 

Narcissa noticed his awe and smiled. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” 

Draco opened his mouth to answer her, but his father’s words cut him off. “Useless is what they are,” he remarked from the doorway. His hands were busy adjusting his jade cufflinks as he waded further into the room. “They just sit in a box over half the time.” 

Narcissa sighed in resignation. “What would you have me do? Parade down the streets of Diagon Alley with five carat diamonds draped around my neck?” she demanded with a scoff. “I think not.”

“Oh, calm yourself,” Lucius chided, pacing over to the dresser and pulling open the top drawer. “I’m only talking. But it’s not as if anyone would dare to take them from you. And even if they did, I could easily get you something else. Gems—” he shook his head and selected a matching jade pin from his collection before sticking it to his lapel. “—they’re silly trinkets anyway.”

“All right, Lucius,” Narcissa clipped, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes as her attention shifted back to the box. “Draco?”

At the sound of his name, the boy lifted a string of pearls out of the box by its chain and let the necklace pile up into his mother’s open hand.

“Thank you, dear. It’s perfect,” Narcissa said as she clasped it behind her neck. 

Draco said nothing.

~~•~~

Upon arriving at the party, his mother took her leave, striding off toward a semi-circle of women who were already gossiping at full tilt. Draco stuck by his father’s side, peering at him every so often to make sure he was carrying himself in an identical manner. Anytime someone heard the familiar tap of Lucius’ cane upon the floor behind them, they turned from their current conversation to greet him, usually with over-enthusiastic smiles and false voices. By now, Draco knew enough to sort out the liars and the fakes. It wasn’t that hard. Most everyone was fake at these parties. He knew for a fact that not everyone was as wealthy, as beautiful, or as pure of blood as they made themselves out to be. He knew who had recently lost a terrible sum of money to a bad investment; he knew who covered up the dark, alcohol-induced circles under their eyes with layers of makeup. And Draco knew, most importantly, who was  _ truly  _ pureblood and who was not. He was more knowledgeable about the inner workings of their society than most of the adults at this gathering, and he was a mere ten years of age.

Eventually, he and his father pushed past the thick of the crowd and happened upon some more familiar faces. “Crabbe. Goyle,” Lucius addressed as he approached them from the side. The two men turned toward them almost in unison, and a crooked grin appeared on Mr. Crabbe’s face.

“Well, we were wondering when you were going to make an appearance. Weren’t we Goyle?” he emphasized with a nudge to the other man’s side. Mr. Goyle hummed in response and boredly sipped his drink. “At any rate,” Mr. Crabbe continued, “you seem to be the talk of the night.” 

A small smirk alighted Lucius’ face at that. “Really?” he drawled, feigning surprise. 

Draco looked between the three men, curious. But, of course, just when things were starting to get interesting, Mr. Goyle turned to him and said, “Draco, I’m sure Vincent and Gregory are around here somewhere. Why don’t you go find them?” In other words, ‘the adults are talking now, so beat it.’ Regardless of this knowledge, Draco nodded obediently and waltzed away with his hands tucked petulantly into the pockets of his dress robes. 

He skirted around the edge of the circular room to avoid the crowd as he searched for his friends. He should have known they’d be exactly where they always were at these parties: the dessert table. Draco approached them from behind, wrinkling his nose at the two boys’ behavior. There was a stack of perfectly good plates on the very table over which they had decided to gorge themselves, but they obviously hadn’t noticed. Anything they grabbed was immediately shoved into their mouths. They were making quite a mess of themselves and the daintily decorated table.

“Crabbe! Goyle!” Draco barked, not unlike how his father had addressed theirs. The two boys turned and froze with petrified looks on their faces, as if they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. No doubt they had many times before, Draco thought to himself as he crossed his arms. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. Neither of them knew how to respond. “You DO know that your behavior reflects back on your families, don’t you?” When they remained quiet, Draco simply shook his head with a sigh. “Never mind. Just go clean yourselves up,” he ordered, shoving them both toward the lavatory.

~~•~~

“Took you long enough,” Draco said, pushing himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “Was there food in the bathroom too?” Draco snorted at his own joke. Crabbe looked sheepish at the question, while Goyle just glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Draco chided with a smirk. “You brought it on yourself. Now come on, I want you to help me out with something...” He started toward the musician’s stand, having kept an eye on the person he wanted to show Crabbe and Goyle. He was so honed in on his task that he didn’t really pay attention to his immediate surroundings. A girl with blonde hair, about his age, nearly smacked right into him as she hurriedly exited the crowd. Her face was scrunched up in irritation, and her fists tightly grasped the skirt of her dress, lifting it to hasten her escape. Not two seconds had passed before another girl shot out of the same opening in the crowd, chasing after the one before her, and this time, Draco wasn’t so lucky. She crashed into his shoulder, and nearly sent them both to the floor, which would have been quite the feat for one her size.

“Watch it!” Draco snapped.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” she apologized. Draco caught a glimpse of her grassy green eyes as they flitted over him, possibly checking for signs of injury. He was about to offer his forgiveness—it was the courteous thing to do, after all—until she had the AUDACITY to  _ giggle  _ at him! Before he could inform her how disgustingly rude it was to laugh at someone she’d nearly just knocked over, she ran off again, her laughter twirling behind her in the air like a ribbon until it vanished into another crowd of people.

“You all right, Malfoy?” Goyle asked him.

“Yes, I’m fine. The nerve of some people,” Draco muttered, straightening his dress robes quite unnecessarily. “Come on.”

With no help from the previous interruption, Draco eventually spotted the person he’d seen before and halted in his tracks. Crabbe and Goyle would have walked right past him if he hadn’t yanked them both back by their collars. “See that girl? Just there, by the woman in red?” Goyle squinted as if he’d forgotten his glasses. Crabbe pointed directly at her and subsequently proceeded to say: “That one?” 

Draco immediately slapped his arm down. “Yes, you idiot!” he hissed. “Just let her know why don’t you?” He huffed in exasperation and loosely gestured in no particular direction. “What’s the talk around her?” 

Goyle shrugged. “There’s not much. No one’s ever seen her before,” he began. “Her father’s with her, and he seems to have a few connections, but other than that...”

“Oh, her aunt’s some sort of writer, er...something,” Crabbe chimed in. 

Draco grew intrigued at that. “What does she write about?” 

The chubby boy gave him one of his signature clueless expressions. “I dunno. I don’t read.”

Draco resisted the temptation to roll his eyes.

“There’s one more thing,” Goyle remembered.

“Well, let’s hear it then,” Draco urged, crossing his arms. 

Goyle leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Heard her mother was a mudblood.” 

Draco drew his brows together and pushed Goyle and his revolting breath away with two fingers. “A what?”

“You know,” Crabbe insisted. “A muggleborn?”

“You did know that, right, Malfoy?” Goyle pressed. 

Draco scowled in offense, his lower lip curling as the expression contorted his face. He had not, in fact, known what the term meant, but he wasn’t about to let Crabbe and Goyle know that. His father did throw it around every once in a while, but his mother highly disapproved of its use, so he’d never ventured to ask what it meant. “Of course I did!” he lied, “But that’s not the point, is it?” 

They both looked at him oddly. “What...what  _ is  _ the point?” Crabbe asked hesitantly, as if afraid of repercussions.

“Oh, just wait here!” he growled, stalking away from his two idiot-friends. Wasn’t it obvious? An elusive father? An aunt with a writing career? They were an intriguing family to say the least, and he wasn’t going to miss out on an opportunity to make a prosperous connection. Even if she turned out to be pretty ordinary, he didn’t have many friends and was eager to make a few more before the start of school term. Not that he had any doubts about being able to make  _ plenty  _ of friends once he got there, but it was always good to have a small entourage going into an unfamiliar situation. His father always made sure he had people around to back  _ him  _ up, after all.

He exhaled, softening his facial features, lightening his gait, and straightening his posture as he closed in on her. He was still several feet away when she noticed his approach, and she stared him down right up until the moment he stopped before her. Although Draco didn’t like the look she was giving him, he managed a pleasant smile as he extended a hand toward her. “Couldn’t help but notice you’re over here all by yourself,” he began. “The name’s Malfoy.  _ Draco  _ Malfoy. What’s—?”

“I know perfectly well who you are,” the girl interjected in a pompous tone that could have rivaled his own. “Who introduces themselves with their last name anyway?” she added with a snort. 

Draco, who had dropped his hand long ago, was, frankly, caught off guard by her bold dismissal of him. He opened his mouth, hoping a quick retort would come to his mind, but she cut him off yet again.

“The name’s Skeeter.  _ Clarie  _ Skeeter,” she emphasized, mocking the way he’d introduced himself not moments before. “And I’m not interested in being seen with anybody of...” she looked him up and down, “...your type.” 

Thankfully, Draco managed to find his voice. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a ready comeback, but a question. “What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” he demanded with a scowl. 

Clarie rolled her eyes, the same way he did when Crabbe or Goyle said something stupid. “Don’t play dumb,” she chided. “I know several people here who should be in Azkaban. And I  _ also  _ know that your dad is one of them” As she said it, she placed a hand on her chest and kept it there, fingers splayed beneath a glistening gold chain. Nine tiny diamonds hung from it like water droplets. As he stared at the gems, the gears in his head began to turn. His nose twitched with anticipation as his eyes locked onto her’s.

“Where’d you get the necklace?” The question was far off topic, but Clarie didn’t miss a beat. She must have been well-practiced at insulting people.

“From my mother. Why? You looking to buy it with all your father’s dirty money?” she quipped. 

Draco didn’t allow himself waver, even though he was starting to see red. How dare she insult him, insult his father, their family name. Who the hell did she think she was?

“Why in Merlin’s name would I want to buy a piece of rubbish like that?” he shot back. 

Finally, the tables seemed to be turning. Clarie’s eyes narrowed. “For your information, these are real,” she clipped, referring, he assumed, to the diamonds. “It was my mother’s. She gave it to me.”

“Yeah? Well my mother has a whole BOX full of jewels that would put those pebbles on your neck to shame,” he snapped. “And besides that, practically all gems are silly trinkets anyway. They sit around over half the time doing nothing. They’re useless!” 

Clarie’s bottom lip trembled in anger. “They are not! Mine are special!” she argued through her teeth. Her tiny fists were clenched together at her sides. 

Draco snorted, deriving premature pleasure in knowing he’d already won this battle. “Is that what your mudblood mummy told you?” he replied with a fake pout. And that was it. The final blow. Clarie looked about ready to explode; her face was bright pink, and she was shaking despite the stiffness in her frame. By this point, Draco was feeling rather proud of himself. That’s when he noticed the tears welling up in the girl’s eyes.

“You’re h-horrible, Mal-foy.” The words hiccupped as they were forced from her throat, and Draco could tell she was trying desperately not to cry. “You and your whole family—!” she sputtered, dotting the sentence with a small sob. “Everything my aunt said was  _ true _ .” She scrunched up her face and bolted from him, and she was lost in the crowd within seconds.

Draco slipped cautiously away from the scene, also making an effort to lose himself among the throngs of party-goers. The good feelings in his chest—of victory, of defending his family—had begun to mingle with the uncomfortable. Guilt and shame crept in between the spaces of his ribcage and cast a shadow over his success.  _ But she’d insulted him first!  _ he argued with his conscience.  _ She’d torn down his name before he’d even gotten her’s! She deserved it! _ He repeated similar things to himself through the rest of the night. And the more he did, the easier it became to accept. The guilt faded into the background. He buried the shame. He tied a gag around the mouth of his conscience.

He’d won. That’s all that mattered.


End file.
